


Shineless Sea

by Ethanol



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!, Sunless Sea
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, F/F, Sailing, characters to be added as they show up, who knows where this will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethanol/pseuds/Ethanol
Summary: You take a deep breath. The zee possesses a lack of fungus in the air. The lights of London are long gone. Waves crash against your ship, its cacophony harmonizes with the laugh you left behind.Sail your ship, captain. The zee awaits.
Relationships: Takami Chika/Watanabe You
Comments: 28
Kudos: 12





	1. Beginner's Zailing

**Author's Note:**

> hey demons what up its me yo boy
> 
> so this happened, and i thought id throw this here and see what people think
> 
> oneshot unless there's more? who knows

Gentle waves crash against the pier. Wolfstack docks creaks beneath the feet of your crew. Heavy labor fills the air as they load your recent purchases on board. The voyage is said to be treacherous, but you only know it to be long.

Dry boots shift against the salt stained wood. Hesitation? No. This was your dream, after all. A flickering ambition from the radiance of your father's success. That radiance crossed beyond the deep hue of the zee. You implore yourself to find it again.

Water slams against loose wooden boards. The unterzee mocks your dithering.

"You!" Few eyes of your crew gather before flickering away. They know better than to ogle at their captain's prize. You turn to meet her smile. A grimace splits across your cheek. "I'll be waiting. I'll definitely be waiting! So, come back soon, okay?"

You laugh at the enthusiasm, brushing her words with a gentle wave of your hand. Your boots dig deeper into the dock. "Wait at the inn. Wolfstacks is a dangerous place at night, Chika."

"Fine! Only if you promise to come back!" You swallow. Promises are dangerous. In this vast darkness, old Gods watch. They prey on false promise, and make just deliverance.

Or so you were told as children. "I promise!"

She smiles, glinting in the low mist. A hand snakes up your chest, cupping a foreign warmth on your cheek. The heat is nearly intoxicating. "I'll see you soon, captain!"

A curt nod. A salute to ease your worries. Fuel for your bravado. "Full steam ahead! Yousoro!"

Stepping off port feels easier in the moment, your ship's engine grumbling in anticipation. It rocks lazily as your helmsman sets course. Wolfstack lights grow dimmer as your ship wakes from its stupor, cleaving through the dark water.

You lean against the stern, watching a wave grow farther. Your ambition is to chase your father's shine. It was what drew you to the zee. Now, with her touch still warm on your cheek, it is almost poetic.

You leave your shine to chase another.


	2. Memory of Familiar Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spent more time than you would have liked with paperwork. You are almost dizzy as you compile the last needed forms to register yourself at the admiralty. Frantic feet force you out the door upon looking at the time. 
> 
> You're quite familiar on the route to the admiralty office. After all, you've been there times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's events happens before the first one. the first chapter just sets the tone, while this builds more?
> 
> im not sure but it makes sense i swear

"Next!"A familiar voice shouts. You don't quite remember the admiralty as rundown and decrepit, and you are fairly sure that spot of fungus had not been in that corner during your last visit.

Frantic shuffles of paper accompanied by lax steps. Your nose picks up the scent of dried ink as you step in the office. You take great care in handling the paperwork clutched in your hands. "Yes?"

"I do not have all day." The secretary snaps, eyes an emerald hue similar to the lit up water of Wolfstack docks. The scowl poetically mirroring the wrath of the far stretches of the zee. "Your papers."

You watch in awe as she takes the papers with calculative swiftness. Sharp movements give you the answer on why this particular queue was faster compared to the adjacent offices, but you nearly cringe at the force that could tear the pages. It never comes, to your relief. This secretary has garnered enough experience to handle even wet napkins.

"Watanabe?" The name gives her hands a momentary slow. You meet her eyes, before promptly looking away when the action deepened her scowl.

"Y-yes!" A nervous reply, yet persistence pushes through. "I'm here to register with my own ship! W-well, it was my father's ship, but-" A striking glare stills your words. Small talk seems to be void in this office.

"One moment." She sighs out, much like a disappointed parent to a child. Not dissimilar to the constables surveying an unfortunate corpse. "And a listing of your crew? The admiralty wishes to keep tabs on those who perish out at zee." You nod in understanding. One's untimely demise is another's inheritance. It was what brought you your own struck of wealth.

A normal soul would be overjoyed, but the circumstances of your particular instance bring you none of those pleasures. Only an ambition that lies beyond the pier. "A-ah, sorry! Let's see here..." You filter through your coat. It was on you somewhere. Every searched pocket diminishes that belief.

"Shoot! I know I had it-" The sight of her face pales yours, hands frantically pat down your pant pockets, feeling nothing. The secretary shakes her head, a low growl through gritted teeth. "I explicitly placed a sign in front that says, 'Make sure to have your papers in order before entering,' did I not?"

"I know! But-" Your words do not get far before the door swung open. A ragged breath stood at the doorway, jutting a pair of crumpled papers your way. "K-Kanan?!"

"You... You left these at the inn." Your would-be first officer draws a deep gulp of air, expelling fatigue. The unwelcome disturbance would surely cause the secretary rage if she was not busy looking aghast. "Wait a tick, is that you, Dia?"

So that is her name. The terror of the admiralty office finally has a name known to you. Her words carried an uncharacteristic pause. "I did not expect you to consider zeefaring life once more, Kanan."

She shrugs, knocking on the wooden door frame. What people know to be luck were simple gestures of mocking to her. "It pays better than urchin diving." The secretary rolls her eyes, like waves receding to the depths. You take the listing, putting it down on the table for her to inspect. It had names of friends, acquaintances, and penniless dockworkers seeking to make their keep. Not a preferred crew, but it will be yours.

"All seems to be in order," she finally speaks, a satisfying click of a stamp pressing against your paperwork. Dia shuffles the pages in flawless assortment, handing it back to you where you immediately send them askew. "Welcome to the admiralty, captain Watanabe-"

You choke out in surprise, interrupting her words. You take great efforts in continuing despite the sudden frown. "Captain Watanabe is my dad! You can call me by my name."

Lips parted for your reply, but they still. You find her eyes looking to you. No - looking past you. Turning, you find your first officer delivering a furrowed glare. Facing the secretary again, conflict paints her face, a long breath evening the expression. "I will keep that in mind, er..." She stares down at a registry on her desk, to its latest entry. "Watanabe You."

Satisfied, you give a salute. "That's me!"

The frown settles back on her face. You passively wonder if that is her default expression. "Stop at the reception desk to file a form. Then, she will give you your first commission." She says, looking away from you. You give your own frown out of disbelief.

"More paperwork?!" From all the tales your father had told you in your youth, he sure left out the detail of the strenuous ordeal of filling out papers and submitting forms. You expected the high zee and danger, not boring paperwork and writing. Still, it is a necessity to become a captain of London. "Fine..."

You walk past Kanan, expectant of her to follow you out. You grow curious when her feet remain unmoving. "Uh, go fill out that form, You. I'll just have a small catch up with Dia, here."

"Okay?" You leave it at that, the door closing behind you with a soft click. Despite Kanan's obscure past, you place trust in her. Due to being friends for so long? That may be the case. It was a relief that she signed on first, and you declaring her as your first officer. An older age and an aloof manner may veil experience and knowledge. You are speculative, but hopeful.

Shutters deny you view of the inside, their conversation muffled behind closed doors. You shrug, proceeding to the reception desk to finalize your papers. Upon completion, you resolve yourself not to touch a piece of paper again.

* * *

You leave the admiralty first, salty breeze mingling to your accustomed smell of mushroom and coal-infused mist. You will be relieved of this scent out at zee. Excitement springs your step.

Kanan leaves just short moments after you, closing the door with a drawn-out sigh. Unlikely for her character, but then again, she had just put herself through a conversation with the secretary of the admiralty. The curiosity strikes you once more. How does she know about her?

"An old friend." She says, face splitting to her usual grimace. Perhaps you wore the question on your face, because she answered before you could ask it. "Let's get going. Chika might get worried why we took so long." You hurry after her. Your bodies split the dense mist.

Your eyes search for familiar lights. This district houses the clutter of rented rooms and delights. These streets are tainted with the smell of mushroom wine, sex, and alleyway stabbings. You take care not to stumble over any bodies on the street, but the low mist is heavy.

"So, when do we leave?" Her question barely audible as you pass by a rowdy inn. An urchin scurries long its rooftop, displacing coal.

"We have everything ready, so we set sail tomorrow!" You shout, pained from anticipation. You have been dreaming of the zee your whole life. Your father’s stories tell you of the vast Neath. A zee of danger, riches, and stories. You remember his short shore leaves in London, where he would take you on a tour on his new ship. Crew members waved at you, jesting of the possibility of having you on board as a mascot.

His days of returning home were always the same, if not a few days apart in between. You waited excitedly, looking forward to new stories and feats he bragged at the inn. After a week, wait turned to worry. A bad storm? Engine troubles? Still, you continued to wait.

A month, and a letter invited you to the admiralty. Your first contact with the secretary was when she read out your father's will to you. You cannot quite remember what it stated, denial blurred her words. Years, and there was nothing. Your mother and you inherited a wealth, and your father's old ship. You took nothing but the old boat. You refuse to believe he had perished out at zee.

"Ah, You!" A yell fishes you up from deep thought. Warm orange lights filter out the windows. Nostalgia heats your chest as you step to the entrance. An individual takes your hand, hurrying you inside. "You took so long!"

Suppressing a laugh, you stumble to follow. "Sorry, the paperwork was a nightmare, Chika."

"Tell me all about it later!" She decides, bringing you to the dining area. Relaxed steps let you know Kanan is close behind. "We got to celebrate you becoming captain!" You stutter, embarrassed. Before a polite refusal could form on your lips, desynchronized claps fill the room upon your entry. You see faces of Chika's family, your mother, and a few close friends.

"Congratulations," she walks up to you, a forced smile painting a face worn with lines. You nod. It proved hard to give a genuine grin, but you manage. Your mother says nothing after that, retreating to the corner with Chika's mother, the inn owner. Festivities quickly follow. The earthy, fungal delight of mushroom wine fills your tongue. Humble roasts of the neath's bounty satisfy your stomach, and the company is lively, yourself and Chika leading the ruckus.

It is a night to be remembered. It will be a night you will try hard not to miss.

Your celebration winds to a drowsy close, everyone retreating to their rooms to call it a night. Chika invites you to her room. You quickly follow, the wine staggering your steps.

"We're here!" She announced to the empty room. You bump into her; you both laugh aloud. Alcohol had a strange persuasion to dull your senses. You do not remember her touch being this addicting.

An airy laugh against your chest, you look down to find bright eyes. Words spoken under a hush whisper. You smile back.

"Be safe, okay?" A mumble against your collar. Her hair fills your senses with citrus. You take a mental note to carry some for your voyage. You would render a salute in response, but your arms are busy keeping her warmth close.

"Aye." Your words were a resolute hum. The decisiveness in your tone hitches her breath, but she says nothing else. She would never be selfish enough to deny you your dream of the zee.

Somewhere deep inside, you wished that she was.

"Don't forget about me." You laugh, reveling in the moment to ease her worries. Your touch snakes up her spine, coaxing out a held breath. Lips draw close to her ear, red from the excess of earthy wine.

You whisper, and it satisfies her. A response reserved for only her. The silent gods of the Neath would have to pry the words out of your mouth to hear them. Below you, nervous feet shuffle. You pull away to meet glassy eyes. Lips parted in restless breath.

No words were exchanged. A hot sigh is your invitation. You kick the door closed and she guides you under dim candlelight to her bed. Violant eyes shimmer. She pulls you down, her touch almost burning. You capture her sighs, drinking muffled pleasure.

A gust plunges the room into near darkness, but it proves no hindrance. Gentle hands work slowly, charting the surface of Chika's skin.

Parting for air, you feel a hot wetness against your ear. You shudder, her request a strangled gasp. She calls out your name, and you are eager to satisfy her wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there was more, huh
> 
> this will be updated quite irregularly, im not sure. im thinking about this as i go along, well more so than usual, but yeah
> 
> lemme know what you think. if you played the game, let me know how it went for you in the comments


	3. The Shepherd Isles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shepherd's Wash. Dark isles of uneventful days. Yet strangely, isles of eventful tongues. Their stories are tall tales at best, you remember to write only what's believed to be believable.

Fog banks, still waters. You dawdle by the rail; London lights a distant memory. The ghost of her touch silks against your skin. You walk to your quarters, returning outside with your coat.

"Feeling nervous on your first voyage, captain?" A taunt. Your first officer steps from the helm, taking a deep breath of zee air. You do the same. It just does not feel right without the musk of mushrooms.

"No. Just bored." Is your response. A half-truth, you convince yourself. Leaned against the rail, white froth into dark waters. A rusty rail lies between you and the depths.

"Zee's not all it's cracked out to be," She continues, taking lax strides onto the deck. Crew tend to routine engine checks and sighting. You have not done much since waking up. "If we're lucky, then the whole trip can be boring. A silent voyage is a successful one, Dia always said."

"About that..." You swallow. Curiosity gnawed at your brain like a famished zee bat. A mind's hunger is one not so easily satiated. "How do you know the admiral's secretary, Kanan?"

She stops, watching you. Eyes of Irrigo scan briefly, then it flickers. An easygoing smile dispels the momentary tension. "A long story, there. One I can't tell on an empty stomach, captain." Her course shifts, returning to the helm. "Maybe if you invite me to a quiet night, I might spill. I'm sure Chika won't mind if I have you for a while."

Her laugh disappears past the door, knowing she had left you with a flushed red. It was a stroke of bad luck when you had overslept on the day of departure, your first officer discovering you entwined with Chika on her bed. Embarrassment was prominent, time was fleeting, and clothes were forgotten on the floor. A terrible morning to follow a heated night.

You tilt your head. The fog carries an earthy smell. It had been three days since you left Wolfstack docks. A hot puff leaves your lips. A zailor gathers your attention. "Cap'n! Land ho!"

You warm your cheeks. One must always keep their mind while at zee. Let it wander, and so does your ship. Your father's teachings are kept close to your heart. He was a renowned captain in the Neath, and your guide.

But now, it is your turn. Crew walk to the deck, unfurling rope. You swallow uncertainty."Ready to make port! Kanan, take us slow!"

"Aye, captain!" Your ship groans, dark smoke bellowing from the stack. You are captain of this vessel. These crew follow your light. You only hope to guide them well.

Sheep, lichen, standing stones. You arrive at the Shepherd Isles. Your first commission from the admiralty has you dock on these quiet isles. Your father told you stories hailing from these shores. All of them absolutely outrageous.

Men of greyed beards welcome you and your crew. Among them, a bearded watchman approaches you, lantern on hand. His foggy eyes tell of experience, and he knows to tell a captain from a rut of zailors. "Welcome to Fieldhaven, cap'n! Quite a young one at that. Yer' first voyage?"

A heavy accent, scruffy throat and hearty laugh. You struggle to keep up. "I- Yes! I'm here to gather a report on this port, sir!"

He bellows a chuckle, his unkempt beard obscuring his smile. "A polite one, too! Are yer' sure you're from London, miss?" Greybeards laugh behind him, your crew nod in a silent agreement. Your feet shuffle, foreign to the attention.

A touch on your shoulder almost startles you. Your first officer walks forward. The height difference, usually slight, now seemed astonishing. "I'll swap tales for that report. Some moldy wine could slip some stories out of you, too." Her voice commanding, the bearded watchman almost staggers back in astonishment.

"Oh hoh, a fair deal there, miss! Boys, fry some skewers! We dine with London's finest wine!" Unison of cheers. From the greybeards and your own crew. Shore leave is welcome for your zailors, and everyone enjoys a party.

The old docks creak loudly under the weight of excited men and women, good company is sought after by all. You turn to the woman at your side, your feet shuffling to find better ground. "Thanks, Kanan."

She shakes her head, waving to the wind. "You all right, there?"

"Aye, just lost for words. It all happened so fast, you know?" She laughs, hands to her hips with eyes scanning you once more.

"The distant shores got different people, captain. Best get used to the more normal ones!" A slap to your shoulder. You wince but laugh a thanks. She juts a finger to the fading cheers. "Get a move on, now. I'm looking forward to some shore leave." Kanan walks ahead, but you are quick to follow.

"Yousoro!" You cry out, a fist in the air. Your zailors pick it up, the word yelled aloud by invigorated souls. The bearded watchman beckons you over, sliding two pairs of stools amidst the ruckus.

"Sit, cap'n! There's been goings on in these isles, I'll swap yer' for a tale of ol' Wolfstacks!"

Your zailors enjoy the hours of hearty eating, warm conversation and hot mutton skewers. Lights of Abbey Rock glow watchfully as a cask of mushroom wine slowly depletes. You wonder why Kanan insisted to purchase a few for cargo, but slowly the decision makes sense.

"There were these big tentacles, cap'n! On the shore, the zee rollin' like a porridge pot! And then-" You hurry to scribe down his words, the sheer agility of the watchman's tongue producing a mess of pages filled with near-nonsense and outrageous stories. Still, with this man being the apparent authority on the island, his words are the most trustworthy. Such a word holds no place in these isles, but you thank him for the report. He passes you a bottle of unlabeled grog and a steaming mutton skewer. You join the momentary reprieve.

In a circle, you ask for tales of the zee. A greybeard scratches his hair, a half-finished bottle of mushroom wine cleared his mind. "Yer' lookin' like a lass yearnin' for excitement, captain!" He starts, downing the dark liquid. Droplets of dew shimmer in the lamplight. "Ain't nowhere more excitin' than Gaider's Mourn!"

"If ye' be lucky: Fortune! Anything less, then a stab on the back!" A man adds, raising his mug in the crowd, the rest follow in a cheer. You find your first officer's eyes. She shrugs. "You could write a report while you're there too. And we got some cargo to trade."

The bearded watchman scratches his chin, his unkempt beard morphing against his movement. "If yer' looking for a place to sell Londoner wine, then Godfall's yer' shore." A large hand points to the dark shore. The unterzee lies silent under the pointed gesture. "A day or two that way, cap'n! A stalactite floatin' in the middle of the zee, can't miss it!"

You wrack your memories of your father's tales. Godfall. Home to bearded men that call themselves monks. A peculiar religion surrounds them, but you recall they pay well for a cask of wine.

A tip of your bottle, the drink enters your throat. A dull sweetness, a texture of low fog. "Then, that's where we'll go next!" You shoot a look to your first officer. For approval? You quickly forget that you are the captain. She, however, does not.

"You heard the captain! We make steam for Godfall and her roughhousing monks!" Kanan raises her bottle, your zailors follow. Some stumble, all cheer. A song of Veilgarden, crude with lines forgotten from their tongues, but they sing. London feels just a shy closer.

"She's a good one, cap'n." The bearded watchman mutters, passing you a drink. "Steer your crew well." You blink, and his demeanor vanishes. A boisterous laugh breaks the air. "Now, let me tell you of my scuffle with the Khanate!"

You prepare yourself for another outrageous tale. Thanking him, you down the newly acquired drink.

He trades a tale for one of yours. You tell a memory of home. A memory of lights, ambition, and warmth. The watchman nods to your ship, you tell him her name.

He laughs and asks for yours; you spare no hesitation.

"Like ol' Cap'n Watanabe?" The bearded watchman repeats, his stool knocked over. He slaps his knees, laughing at the realization. "His daughter, aye! He'd swap one of my tales for one of his. A memory of his wee tramp back in London. I never believed him, but I guess I owe 'em now!"

He curses to the air, then stares back to you, a glint in his greying eyes. "Take his prize, then! Tell him the boys at Shepherd accept their loss."

Words catch on your tongue. You only nod. Your father is alive somewhere in the fast zee. Now, there's another reason to find him. "Aye, I'll make sure to bring it to him!"

"Atta' lass!" He raises a bottle to you. It chimes loudly against yours. Seeing this, another rouse of cheer blow from your crew.

A fog bank rolls through the port, but the fires and company keep you and your zailors warm.


	4. Of Shouts and Fine Dining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shepherd Isles was a warm memory, but you return to the zee. Your ship's course is Godfall. Sometimes, just occasionally, bits of the roof fall off. You are glad you were not there when this one did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you may guess, ill be referencing the game sunless sea a lot, so if you want to know more about it, please do check out, or buy the game
> 
> this isnt a sponsorship
> 
> id like to though
> 
> @ this work to failbetter games

A wave heaves, your ship sways. Your course edges Wolf's rift, a deep abyss between the Shepherd Isles and the stalactite of Godfall. On your approach, a watery yell below the surface. You stay cautious, keeping away from the rail. Drownies?

"Nothing that crazy," your first officer reassures. She faces to you, her back to the zee. "We're close to the Tides of Appetite, captain." This is a name familiar to you, your father mentioned of these waters once. Among it, the Sea of Voices, where nothing is truly dead.

"How do you know so much, Kanan?" You end up asking. She rolls her shoulders, staring off to the upward darkness, false stars twinkling dimly in the far north.

"I know a thing or two about the zee. Not a lot, though." She laughs, springing to life in the direction of the helm. You are left in the quiet of the Neath. A zailor passes by, hauling supply. Stone claws reach to the roof of the Neath. The stalactite yearns to return. Your ship approaches Godfall.

You tap the shoulder of a nearby zailor. She jumps back, nearly dropping the casket of firing solution. "Cap'n?! What be yer' need?" You ease her worries, then gesture to the bow of the ship.

"Make preparations to dock. And, bring up the casks of wine from the hold." You command, though your voice holds none of the needed snap of a captain. She nods dutifully despite it, disappearing down below, yelling urgently. She returns a minute later; a handful of your crew follow behind. As they reach for the docking rope, you enter the helm where your first officer gently steers the ship.

"Captain?" She meets your eyes; you give a soft smile.

"Steal yourself one of the bottles, Kanan. I think I'll have that dinner with you." Her teeth glint, eyes shine in excitement. She nods, then turns back to the front, steering your ship into port with a renewed vigor.

The engine below gurgles tiredly, huffing into sleep. A faint splash outside. Your zailors drop anchor, some throw rope to the waiting men on the dock, tying your ship in. When the gentle rocking of the zee puts your ship into a stupor, you step onto the port. Kanan follows behind you, the zailors walking along the deck to carry the casks.

"Hail, captain!" A bearded man calls, approaching you. He is double your size; his large frame obscures the dockyard. "And what be your offer to the saint on the roof?"

A memory flashes. You mull the choices in silence, turning to your crew, then to the monks. "Of blood and shouting, sir."

"Ah!" His eyes light up, like distant lightships that beckon zailors home. The throats of the brothers are dry. They will pay for something to moisten them. The greybeards of Shepherd Isles were right, to your surprise.

The monks, most in a larger stature than your crew, haul the casks of mushroom wine. They pay what they can afford. Mostly Echoes, but there is Khanate paper money, the whimpering coins of Polythreme, and a strange glass token that might be from far Irem. "Donations," the Abbot-Captain affirms. "Pilgrims are generous." You sort through the varied currencies of the Neath. Your first officer peers past your shoulder, and in a zee breeze, she swipes the glass token.

"Mine," she laughs, trotting away back onto the ship. You wave off her actions, the monks eager to tell of their history. Tell is an understatement, their shouts echoing as they assure you of the origins of the stalactite, their mission, and occupants of Godfall. A section of their tale confuses you, and you let it be known.

"The occupants that fell became the monks' progenitors?" The Abbot-Captain nods, his arms cross over his frame.

"Yes, that be right."

"How does that work? With your vow of celibacy?" He answers vaguely. They all do, and suddenly, they eagerly speak of passing ships in drawn out detail. You quickly scribe it all down.

The shattered citadel looms above you, the hue of the Neath glowing around the dark monastery. You think to ask about its inside, but the monks assure you of a bad idea. "The Starved Men lived there. All dead, but you wouldn't want to meet them, cap'n."

You toil his words over as your crew prepare to leave port. Your reports journal clutched tightly in your hand. You return to your quarters, the bed tempting your fatigue. You give in, heaving a long sigh from the weight off your feet. It is cold and reminds you of the warmth you left behind in London. Below deck, the engine stirs from its stupor.

Eyes wander to your table, empty, enough for two. There is still a cask of two of wine in the cargo hold, and your crew's chef is itching to whip up an adventurous dinner. You nod, springing from bed, the journal hidden away in your desk.

"A dinner for two, cap'n?" You nod, hoping he would not ask further. Zailors know better than to question their captain too much, lest they get thrown overboard. "Aye, leave it to me! Any requests? The ship's got enough spice to make a demon cough!"

You smile at his enthusiasm and think it over. Of all the years you knew Kanan, there is a certain attraction she possessed to the life beneath the zee. In the culinary light? Possibly, but it is a worthy guess. "Something fished from the zee." He nods, and you set off to find your first officer. You walk along the top deck, watching Godfall's port shrink. A zailor passes you, and you call her name.

"Zailor, find me first officer Matsuura." She salutes, then scurries off to find her. A gentle ticking in your coat's pocket, a zee-bat flies overhead. She emerges, shrugging off the breeze.

"Aye, captain?" She quirks a brow, eyes of Irrigo watch your every move.

You suck in a breath. This is normal, you convince yourself. "Meet me in my office in about ten minutes, Kanan."

She whistles, a smirk plays across her face. "And should I grab myself a wine for the occasion?" You laugh, a splash ripples along your ship.

"Aye. Don't be late." She nods, then returns down below. You enter your quarters and begin setting up table. Parabola silk drapes over its edges, your chef enters with a tray, steam leaking from its cover. When your first officer arrived, you feel a sting of over preparedness, guessing from the look of awe on her face.

"My, all this for me?" She smiles, striding to the table, a hand moving to feel the shiny silk. "I'm afraid I'm a little bit underdressed, captain." You look at her. She had not changed at all. You both sit down, and the chef uncovers the two plates in front of you. Zee herring, stewed in a rust orange stew, flaked with greens. Frankly, you're impressed.

"Enjoy yourselves, cap'n," he says before taking his leave. Now it is just you both, and Kanan slides out a bottle of mushroom wine.

"Didn't think you'd take me seriously." She begins with a laugh, pouring you and herself a glass. It clinks in a sharp clarity; the moldy warmth hits the back of your throat. "And what do I owe the fine company and dinner, captain?"

You hum, feigning deep thought. "A story from you, Kanan." You take a bite of the herring. A strong spice, but it complements the dullness of the liquor. "Why do you know so much about the zee, and the secretary of the admiralty?"

She watches you, then peers down at the dark liquid. Dark as the zee, dry as the soil of London. "I used to be a zailor, plain and simple." A breath leaves her. It seems she had decided her words carefully. "Not all over the Neath, but I've seen my fair share."

"And the secretary?" You quirk a brow. She quirks one back.

"My former captain." She says clearly, carefully, regretfully. "Captain Dia Kurosawa. Again, former." She finishes her glass. You are barely halfway.

"W-what?!" You stutter, shocked. She laughs at your reaction, visibly enjoying the hot slices of herring. "I knew you worked at zee, but you said you worked for the Kurosawa fisheries." A subsidiary of Mr. Hearts. It is a company well-known to the zailors of Wolfstacks, and her products better known to the populace of London. Your first officer nods at your every word, like an arrogant criminal being told of falsely accused crimes.

"Aye, that's true. I told you and Chika that." She pours herself another glass. It is gone in the next moment. "I worked there for about a month in the urchin diving sector. Dia saw something in me, probably my expertise in swimming." She shrugs, you watch her smile at each bite, then you watch it disappear when she speaks.

"She was assigned captain to one of the company's fishing vessels. Ferrying supply from London to far shores. Buyers, normal stuff you'd expect." She pauses, then a smile without a bite of herring. "I was the first one she approached. Asked me to be her first officer. I know zailors to be paid well, and urchins were boring, so I took it."

You sit in silence as she tells her story. You take caution not to drink much of the wine. The lesser you drink, the clearer your mind. The more she drinks, the looser her tongue becomes.

"How long were you under Captain-"

"Secretary." She cuts you off, a finger raised. "Secretary Kurosawa now. I called her captain after she stopped being one before. Let's say zee-bats aren't the only thing that flies down in the Neath." You manage a short laugh at the vague warning. You let her continue.

"Let's see... A year or two, I think. I can count how many times she nagged me for being too carefree out at zee, that's for sure." Her voice trails off. You are unsure if she is willing to continue.

"What happened?" Thoughts begin to sprout in your head. An argument? You know Kanan to be quite stubborn at times, and from what you've experienced, the secretary is nothing but. Your eyes find hers. There is a strange flicker of regret.

"What happens to zailors out at zee if they sail for too long in the dark." Her words were like a closing curtain. You open your mouth to press further, but a knock on the door breaks the heavy air.

"Captain! An Angler crab sighted in front of the bow! Your orders!" A panic in her voice. A justified panic. Your hands grow cold when you remember the tales of crabs the size of ships, known to tear hulls in two. Your first officer nods, standing from her seat. Her plate is empty, and the bottle a hollow remnant. She looks to you, and grins.

"Finally, some fight!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello
> 
> because of some external events, my works will be updated irregularly, or may take time. i dont want to put then on a hiatus, but yeah
> 
> if you want to read more from me (though they aren't structured like this work) feel free to check them out, but if you like this crossover au in particular, thank you and i apologize for this inconvenience


	5. Residents of the Zee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gargantuan zee-crabs, driven up from the spawning grounds below the dark depths. Your grip is cold as you emerge out of your quarters. The air is frigid. but your First Officer bounces at every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie an update
> 
> ive been busy, so updates will be sporadic
> 
> still i like this a lot and see how i can work on it more
> 
> enjoy

Feet scramble along the deck. You hear your crew rush from below. A zailor aims the light off toward flinching waves. Two beads stare back, swaying steadfast above the murky green. Your ship's light removes doubt off your mind. Pincers, wide as a cannon. Another doubt seeps in your bones. Around you, the rushing panic grows distant.

"Captain!" A hand against your shoulder. A calloused, but gentle hand. The out of place touch brings a different name upon your tongue. You swallow, then steel your gaze at eyes of Irrigo.

Her gaze shakes you, and you feel the eyes of anxious crew. Your breath catches at the toss of water. Your eyes peel away to the centerpiece of this tramp steamer. Your gunners keep it spotless, the rust rolls off with a faint sheen.

"Man the gun!" You bark out, hopeful the zee air drowned the crack in your voice. Regardless, two zailors step to the cold barrel of steel. One grins, eager to sound the rings of London's mischief.

Your eyes turn to the side, scanning the dark horizon. Nothing signals direction. There is nothing to reinforce your safety. Your ship cuts through the water. The noise grows.

"Kanan," you spare only a second to meet her eyes. Her feet bounce. "Steer us away but keep the Angler in the firing arc."

There was a moment. You swear you saw a smile. "Aye, captain!" You look to your crew crack the crate of firing solution only to find your first officer gone. The doors to the helm are flung open, catching her hair disappear into the room.

A zailor calls your attention and you step up the deck. You feel the ship turn portside beneath your feet. You call for your gunners to aim right.

"Fire on your call, cap'n!" One calls, slamming a compartment shut. You waste no time calling the order.

A flicker erupts smoke off the gun. The deck creaks at the push. In the distance, solid shell meets a hard exterior. It crunches, but you know it did not break.

"It barely dinked it!" A zailor on the bow railing cries, your eyes watching the illiciae. It dimly illuminates a faint glow of eyes. A piercing noise assaults your ears. A zailor panics. You draw more resolve.

"Again!" Your gunners nod, loading another shell. The Angler crab shuffles along the broad Peligin, nearly double the size of your ship. You search your pockets, feeling the light weight. If Storm, Stone, or Salt were to be generous, you promise to purchase a pistol at your next shore leave.

Fire solution assaults your nose. You shrug off the bitter taste as you command the gun.

The zee beast lifts its pincer, meeting the shell against its carapace. You watch the trail of smoke sink below the waves. The great Angler remains unfazed, its path cutting through the water.

"Captain!" A call from behind. You turn to find your first officer. "Wait until it gets close!"

Another zailor yells in surprise at the mere suggestion. You shoot her a look, but her worry only grows. "The pincers, cap'n! It'll tear the boat in two!"

Kanan laughs. A bizarre composure you grew to recognize from her. "She can take a beating, I'll tell you that!"

You swallow. The lump stops halfway. Your first officer has never steered you off the right course. However, mischief in Wolfstack docks is a far cry to the hulking monster of the zee.

"Hold the next round!" You raise a hand, turning back to your gunners. They are apprehensive but wait on their captain's order. From behind, you hear a commanding tone.

"Bring the catch below deck, next to the wine!" Nearby zailors snap to the sudden order. You turn as well. An excited grin meets your stare. A smile finds itself on your face, strangely enough.

"You heard your first officer. Get to it!"

A unanimous cry sees a pair of your crew rush down below decks. You are blind to your first officer's ideas, yet you trust in the dark. You move to the starboard railing, clutching tight. Readings of your father's journal has left memoirs of the zee etched in your mind. Some were left searing, but you are thankful of information rather than not.

"Aim below the illiciae! The underside is soft!" You watch the pair of lights as they grow closer. You hear it lunge across the zee's surface. Waves push against your ship, shaking the deck.

A breeze chills your back. Above, smoke bellows a plume of smoke. The scent of the zee grows pungent on your nose. The water leaves its shell sleek, your ship's light reflecting brightly. The Angler crab is silent as it rears above the waves, sloshing water against your hull.

"Not yet!" Your first officer's words rise above the stunned silence of your crew. They look to your approval, wincing at your nod.

"Hold your nerve, gunners." Your words breath uncertainty. You hope they fail to catch it. You hear a stumble, but a crew member emerges. Her hands are coated in a slime of dull red. A bundled mound of flesh drips on your deck. Your attention cuts short as the waves churn. The painful silence brings light a realization.

Your ship is still.

"Kanan?" You rush to the doorway, finding her eyes out to the window. The lever rests at the middle, your suspicions confirmed. "Get us out of here!"

"This old tramp can't outrun big anglers, captain." Her words are of a knowing experience, unreliable through her plastered grin. "We need to distract it."

You peer to the zee. Its horizon displays nothing but distant fogbanks and silhouettes. "Distract with what?"

Her gaze turns to you. The grin never left her face. At this point, you cannot helped but be worried. "With the only thing around here. Us!"

You blink. Behind you, a zailor cries in terror. The rush of waves is your only warning before a crash knocks your feet unsteady. Quick reflexes see you catch the doorway as you whip around. You grip the wood, staring up at the Angler Crab heave up against the starboard side.

"Fire now?" Your words drip with impatience. Your first officer laughs, nodding. "Fire now!" Your command shakes a gunner from his daze. Hands stained in firing solution, he rushes to the gun. A ring sends the shell out of the barrel. It is a short distance towards its mark. The underside hovers close, dripping zee water on your deck.

A piercing crack. The soft belly underneath shatters. Carapace gives way to viscera, staggering the beast off the ship. A pincer drags through her side, a painful screech etches into your memory.

"You two! Toss the catch off the side!" your first officer barks out. You watch the same pair heave the bundled mass to the railing. A slick coating paints the wooden boards.

"Ready? And heave-" A quick chant and it is tossed overboard. It might be some sort of fish. It is probably better that you did not look closely.

A singular splash amongst the thrashing waves stirs the engine deep below. You hear the grumble of her engines, then a violent growl. You push off the wall, rushing to the deck. Your crew stagger to their feet, your gunners aiming another shot. Metal railings lay crumpled under the weight of the large beast. You take slow care in traversing the splintered floorboards.

"The beast!" a zailor bellows out. You see the light pan away, the illiciae your visual reminder of the monster lurking in the dark. You hear the unique sound of carapace tearing at flesh. Sloshing water provides no concealment. Your mind needs no recognition from sight.

Distance grows between the crab and your ship. Sounds of its feasting dies down to the cough of smoke pluming above. Your crew are dead silent. They are smart to keep their tongues still.

You keep your breath in shallow heaves, feet carried quietly across the deck. You watch the horizon, the shifting silhouette only shrinking at each passing moment. You shoot a gaze to the helm, your first officer ready to meet it with a nod. You are silently thankful, but a zailor catches her wink, cheering loudly.

The crew follows. You find yourself breathing a long sigh of relief. You are never one for small victories, but this narrow escape is anything but small.

"Was that too exciting for you, captain?" You shake your head, exhausting weighing your shoulders to a nearby wall. "Like I said, zee's not all it's cracked out to be."

"How did you know that would work?" Your question leaves out in bafflement. You do not blame yourself, but you cannot help the disappointment in her answer.

"I've had my own share of experience. Large crabs included."

"In your times working for the fisheries?" You quip. She returns it with a hearty laugh. It blends seamlessly in the small rise of celebration.

"The zee does not discriminate, captain." Her hands return to the wheel, shifting it ever so slightly. You understand each movement of the helm to be important. The slightest shift could mean Wolfstacks. A shift too strong can lead you to the darkest reaches of far flung ports. "Be yourself pirate, Londoner, or a zailor of the Khan. The zee eats her fill."

She turns away, knocking the level down a notch. "Speaking of fills, captain. I forgot to thank you for the dinner. The zee had to be so rude to interrupt it, but it was a good time."

You toil words in your mouth. Your heart still races from the close encounter with the many dangers of the zee. Still, you bite it down. Tugging your face back to neutrality. "The pleasure was all mine, Kanan." Your words are met with a lively nod. You turn away, but curiosity slits your lips. The words fall before you realize.

"If it's all the same to you, I would like to hear more of your story."

A low hum. You peer up, watching a deliberating stare. "Is my captain getting a tiny bit too lonely out at zee?" You see her shoot a deviless' wink. Heat is quick to rush over your face.

"That's not it!" You hope the waves carry your convictions, to a waiting soul at port. Your first officer barks out relaxed laughter, doing nothing to simmer your skin.

"You're too uptight, captain," she leans against the wheel, eyes surveying your every feature. A quick survey earns you a nod. The zee steals her attention not long after. "I prefer a change of scene, though. Maybe on our next shore leave?"

A gamble. The far shores away from London are unpredictable if you remember any of your father's stories. It was only a few minutes ago your ship managed to escape the vice grip of one such unpredictability.

"If ports are hospitable, Kanan. I'd like to take you up on that offer. Chika would want a souvenir to decorate her inn with."

She chortles. Her eyes leer back. "Easing your conscious there, You?"

You meet it, stilling those carefree, wandering orbs of Irrigo. "A trinket to ease her worries for me out at zee, First Officer."

A whistle. You hope it impressed. "If it's a unique oddity you want, then Polythreme's your port." A name familiar to you. In your days of youth, a name of nightmares your father told to ensure you finished food off your plate. A shore of living clay. Living stone.

You nod. A screaming cup would adorn Tochimann's cabinets nicely. "Set course if you will, Kanan."

She salutes. You hand one back, your favorite swish of the arm. "Full speed ahead, captain?"

"Yousoro!"

You leave the helm, satisfied. You tiptoe around the splinters on the deck. The zailors are quick on your order to fix the deck. Patchwork is a rough, but common necessity out at zee.

Your hands glide against the battered railing, wincing at the echoes lost for its repair. Quiet waves slap against the hull. A peaceful respite gives light to a scene on the bow.

"What happened?" You ask a zailor, still on her knees. She flinches back when you try to help her. Your eyes draw down, words a hushed coo. "Zailor, is someone injured?"

Your question is met with a shudder. A fruitless silence sees you stand, stealing a curious glance at the gash of blood fresh on the deck. The collision may have brought casualties upon your crew, but your confidence lies unwavering on your medic.

"No, cap'n." A terrified tone turns you around. You watch the zailor look up. Eyes sunk deep as her words leave in painful wails. "The beast! It dragged one of our one to the briny depths!"

You rush to the starboard railing, narrowly escaping the ruptured wood. Your eyes peer to the dark horizon. Nothing but the waves return your frantic look. Hands grip tight on the deformed metal, your mind rushes to a harrowing lesson.

It takes two bodies to distract an Angler Crab.


	6. A Zee Captain's Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the zee leaves a fresh mind from London broken. What the zee doesn't return, you seek to find yourself. Yet, the zee will always consume resolve.

The ship pushes against a rough wave. Below you, distant, muffled yells. You push away from the railing. You never heard it, but you swear it was your lost crew member.

"It happens, captain." You pass by your First Officer. Her feet shuffle. You turn to find her lean against the guarding metal. "Don't blame yourself."

"Kind of hard not to." Laughter veils your unease. At least, that was your attempt. "Everyone's responsibility on this ship lies on me."

Treat the ship as your personal haven. The crew are your treasured possessions, the zee an unwelcoming urchin of the Flit. Your father always had troublesome analogies, often incomprehensible on first thoughts. Yet, the moral was always clear. Your eyes trail the deck, watching zailors smooth down the ruptured timber.

"You get used to it." The tone of finality leaves a bitterness in your mouth. You listen to her footsteps grow distant. To where? Her post, where else?

Waves hiss in the darkness. You too are needed at your post.

Zailors pass you by on the way to your quarters. Your ship's engineer relays details on the workings below deck. You nod, rendering a curt bow before scanning the crudely drawn report.

Fuel are to last for only two more weeks, supplies even less. You wander to desk, producing a map from its drawers. Hands work carefully to prevent the worn papyrus from tearing. Laying it out, your fingers glide along familiar handwriting.

You tap against the crescent isle. Polythreme, likely a day or two away. Loose texture of the paper tickles your fingertip when you trail along the routes your father charted. Through the Tides of Appetite and back along The Shepherd's Wash.

Not enough fuel.

You try once more. Your finger breaks from the thin line, heading upwards through a section of the map marked in dried red tint. Waters of the Khan. Or, what they claim to be theirs.

Alternatives risk another encounter with the zee's residents or your ship becoming a relic stranded on dark waters. Khanate frigates are no better, but your finger surges ahead through a loose smattering of stalagmites. You tap at its center.

The name was spoken through wary tones. Now, it is your ship's best course.

You fold the map, tucking securely in creaking drawers. Hands clutch the report on your way to the helm. A single knock alerts the First Officer of your entry. You hand the report, watching her eyes scan through in silence.

"Didn't know we had a chicken on board, captain," she chuckles out, waving the sheet. "Shuttin' off the lights can save us fuel, though I bet it wouldn't sit well with the crew to be in the dark for two weeks straight."

Nodding in agreement, you step at her side, watching the lax movement of her on the wheel. "Supplies are an issue. This ain't a fishing vessel, either. Can't fish yourself a meal this deep with just a pole n' a hook."

A flicker of Irrigo. A grin plays across her face. "I'm takin' it you already have a plan, captain?"

"How'd you know?" You blink, staring incredulously at the smug demeanor. She shrugs, her hands off the wheel.

"I've had my share of watching people who wear thoughts on their faces like Bohemians with their jewelry." Your First Officer hums to herself, nodding to nodding to undisclosed thoughts. Sometimes, you wonder if there is more to such than what she offers in exchange for fungal wine. "So, what's the course, captain?"

You nod, licking the dryness of salt off your lips. "Gaider's Mourn. There, we can trade for supplies and fuel."

She brings a hand to her chin, mulling over your decision. "Aye, and if we're lucky, a knife in our chest."

A momentary gaze conveys your shock. She quirks a brow, then looks away. "Better than a knife in the back. It pays to know where it's coming from, You."

"Are you saying it's a bad idea, Kanan?" You try to keep neutral in your voice. She shakes her head, eyes scanned to the dark horizon.

"More like, it's our only idea." She turns the wheel. You feel the ship pitch just slightly to the left. "I hope you like London's loudest neighbor, captain."

You give a short laugh. Arrogance of The Khan is a daily laugh back at home. Their frequent and often empty threats of war are published in morning papers. It reminds the Neath that the ridiculous can be sometimes humorous.

"But first, let's get you that souvenir for home, aye? Chika won't be happy if you turn up empty handed, knowing her." She laughs and you join in. A short reprieve warms your chest. You haven't realized how cold your body had felt until now.

"Nothing's going to say unique than a cup that yells as you drink," you add, short puffs of laughter dying out. Nothing else is said when you leave the helm, waving a hand before stepping onto the open deck. You take a deep breath, the sharp assault on your senses strangely calming your mind. The salt in the air has an effect, a strange allure that leads you to watch restless waves from the guardrail.

You wonder if your father had the same thought during his ventures. And again, you wonder: Was the allure so strong that he hasn't returned since? Eyes scan the deep Peligin. Would the zee, somewhere along its vast horizon, take its hold on you?

A Lamplight flickers. Zailors move along to fix it. The dim hue reminds you of your final night in London. Warm caresses, hot breath on your skin.

You grip the cloth over your heart. Your desires lead to London. It always has. It always will be.

A wave hits port-side. Your ship shrugs it off, and so do you. For now, and as it unfortunately cannot replace the warmth you long for, mushroom wine will be a suitable solace.

"Gee," you breathe out to the zee. Overhead, a zee-bat flies. "Maybe I should get a pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there demons, ya boy's still alive
> 
> finally have time to update more. this is a bit of a small chapter but i promise the next ones will be be longer as i begin to remember whats happening in this story 
> 
> stay tuned


	7. Where the Soil Toils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taciturn Clay Men. Evasive clothes-colonies, walking like humans. Cobbles that groan underfoot. On the hills above, a palace-villa of marble - but even that writhes like buried bones in an earthquake.

Bites of stagnant cold keep your body tense in your quarters. Hands lock together, sitting above your diary entry of the day's end. A pendulum toils on the wall of your humble section of the ship. Another day. You still hear voices below the hull.

Footsteps drum life in old weathered floors. The crew stir, one of them shouts a call to make port. Sailing the absurd stillness, Polythreme now lies in sight. You stand, reveling in the breeze of salt as you cross the deck. Zailors loosen docking rope, your first officer hailing the harbormaster from the port side. You wander to the rail, gazing the shifting shadows on the shore. Odd tides prove a challenge.

You look down, lamplight shining a mouth muffled by glistening toils of Peligin. The zee buries the screams below. You turn away before curiosity morphs into temptation.

"First officer Matsuura." Her call spurs attention. She moves away from the guardrail, a hulking figure stomping into a lively street. Its height surpasses light posts, every step shaking the wood stretched onto the shore. "The residents are clay, too?"

"Nothing else is crazy enough to live here, not even rats," she responds, coating wisdom with a carefree slur. You watch your crew throw a line, men of clay on the port reeling the ship in. "Shore leave?"

You nod. It wouldn't be fair to your crew to make the trip a selfish one. However, she returns your answer with a deliberating hum. "Polythreme is pricey, captain. Can't say I recommend it."

Another nod, this time deeper into your chest. It stays there as you mull over her words. Around you, zailors emerge below deck, eager for a reprieve of the zee's constant sway.

It's decided. Smoke bellows from the stack above, reminding you of quiet worries. "Gather news for a report, first officer. Tell the crew to keep the rigging loose."

"Aye, captain." She salutes, sparing a moment of sympathy before breaking off to crew on-deck. Secured at the mooring, you step off. Your body sways against the still ground. It grumbles, but leagues of difference from the undulating constant of zee travel. A momentary change, the rugged pebbles you cherish as you venture into Polythreme; the land of the clay men and living, shouting objects.

A souvenir. A trinket for a smile back in London. At your side is your first officer, your crew milling around with clay harbor men for news. You'll trust their findings, for now you have pressing matters. "What do you think of a brick to give to her?"

The suggestion warms you. It's almost funny enough to be an option. "I think she'll want something nicer than a brick, Kanan."

"Aye, captain. But the bricks here yell at you." You watch her bend down, catching a glimpse of windows blink before she drops a stone in your hands. It rolls across your palm. A little closer, you hear indescribable cries.

You look to a lopsided grin. Laughing, you set the life down with its kin. "Maybe something inconspicuous to surprise her."

Clay beings stomp, unnoticed at the smaller statures of men. Brick signage collects your attention. 'The Whistling Eye,' it reads. Aside from the shifting of foundations and shuttering glass, it's most likely a bar. Beside it, a store of oddities. Along the way, a bustling plaza. You recognize it from gossip of the Wharf. The Temple of Labors, where London procures untiring hands.

"That store of knickknacks seems good," you mutter, dodging native life to the storefront. Your first officer follows, commenting on the way you almost tripped at mischievous brickwork laid into the earth. You signal her patience. She barely has any, but you walk in anyway.

"LONDONER," a booming voice behind a stone counter. "BUY. SELL."

"I'm convinced." Your first officer cracks a smile, attention drawn to a shivering aisle rested at the middle of the store. You dart through curios, trinkets, and baubles displayed in shelves and glass. Catchboxes sealed in screaming chains, coins minted with faces you swear your recognize.

Flasks, tankards, and mugs sing a garbled tune, their mouths muffled with mortar. You cast a curious eye to the shop owner. He turns his body to you. "REMOVED ONCE YOU BUY. FOR NOW, CLAY TALK SCARE CUSTOMERS."

You shrug, understanding. Even clay men grow tired of the undying land. Still, Chika would be over stalactites at such an oddity. If not, it could make for a nice ornament on your shelf in your quarters.

The transaction is swift. Clay men have no spirit to haggle, but the price was low. Wandering down the slope to the harbor, you take care not to flinch at the muffling bound in cloth. "You think we'd make a killing ferrying all sorts of things from here to London?"

"They already do," your first officer explains, nudging a direction to a freighter making port. Stood in a line are naked clay men, sparing no space among each other. Parchments are wrapped on their arms, too far away to read. "London needs builders, but it's a risky trade."

"How come?" You reply, turning back at her. A momentary silence, her lips shifting in thought below a narrowed Irrigo stare.

"Unfinished men. They cause all sorts of problems," she pauses, heaving a sigh. Arms rest back of her head, leaning up to gaze at distant glistening. "I remember hearing whole ships trashed by unfinished clay."

You hum, the crunch of gravel spiking a chill up your spine. Suddenly, the very earth feels less safe. Down at the item in your hand, uncertainty sows. "Should I-"

A hand cuts you off. Your first officer chuckles. A humored sound. "Nothing that small is a problem, You. You can teach it jokes if you want."

"Finally, something funny on the ship," you add, earning another laugh. Your ship lies in view, your crew milling along the dock, some conversing with locals. "Prepare the crew to set sail, First officer."

"Khanate waters. My favorite." She leaves in the air before whistling at warm-blooded zailors. You walk to the harbor laborers, watching your crew member scribe its accounts. They are humble, obedient in answering questions. You throw a few yourself of passing ships, mainly those matching your father's. Unfortunately, the clay men return nothing of value in your search.

"TRAVEL SAFE, CAPTAIN," one says, turning its body to the vessel docking on the pier adjacent. The collective says nothing else, their presence needed elsewhere. You return onto the cradle of your ship, returning to your quarters as the engine roars to life.

"There." You find your strongbox, a metal safe should the worst happen. You slot in the cup, shutting it tight not long after. You hope it doesn't keep you awake when you sleep.

Back outside, you assist in departure. Zailors reel in ropes and chains, freeing itself of port. Salt dries your lips, a splash away in the dark. Blinking lights of Polythreme dim in the growing mist. You blink. You've barely left port.

Dew slips down your skin. A fog bank rolls, concealing the horizon. Nothing past the Apocyan hue.

"First Officer?" you call out, crossing the deck to the helm. Past the guardrail is a different abyss. Behind it, anything.

"A fog bank, captain. Can't see squat past the front lights." She gestures past the glass to your ship's light breaking only measly meters at the thick mist. A hum leaves her lips, you look back to watch her lean at the steering wheel. "Might be a good thing for us. Can't see them, they can't see us."

"The Khanate ships, you mean?" She nods, confirming your words. An itch of curiosity spurs your words, tearing attention away from the blanketing white. "You seem to hate the Khanate, Kanan."

A scoff. "Who doesn't?"

It was fair to say. London has been unfortunate with its neighbors, its colonies scanter. "I was thinking you had more of a reason."

You meet a glint of Irrigo. Behind it, a buried regret. "And if there is, You?"

Your tongue coils, yet the words fall short against a sudden whistle beyond the fog bank. The next moment, your vision blanks to a pale white, forcing you away from the window.

Blinking back sight, the helm is painted with a dangerous Violant glow. Flares.

"Captain!" Rushing back to the glass, your first officer grips the wheel, pointing to the ball of light illuminating the fog. Off the horizon, a silhouette steams through the veil. Heavy sounds creak against wood in the distance. A familiar sound, but the voice beside you is swift. "Company."

You squint, watching past the bow. Shadows dart quick. A corvette is your foe. Your orders die in your throat once you notice the gem-like shine in your first officer's eyes. A grin splits her face as she relieves herself of the wheel. "Kanan?"

"This is a matter between captains, You." She laughed, kicking off out the door. She throws a look past her shoulder, shooting a look to a ship breaking the fog. "Give the poet a good show!"

You gulp, grasping the smooth varnish of the wheel. "The what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie im alive
> 
> more exciting chapters coming demons, stay tuned and thank you for reading. lemme know what you think


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